


Layla

by acidinthefruitpunch



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M, TW alcohol usage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 16:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidinthefruitpunch/pseuds/acidinthefruitpunch
Summary: During a humid summer night in 1973, George wept for his ex wife.





	Layla

“Harrison, I’m gonna kill ya.”

George whipped his long, chesnut brown, hair around as he turned to face his so called “friend” who had just lightly threatened to murder him.

“Yer high, Eric.” He snapped, starting down the hallway of his mansion.

_ SMASH! _

A vase hit the wall and shattered, just above George’s head, missing it by not even an inch. He gasped, heaving his shoulders up and down as he breathed deeply.

“You don’t deserve her.” Eric snarled.

George felt his heart sink in his chest, causing him to reach for his mouth as if something was about to spew out from between his peachy pink lips. 

His fingers caressed his upper lip, then his beard, and eventually his throat, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

“The fuck,” He choked, pulling a strand of hair behind his ear. “Just s-stay away from my wife!”

“Oh, so she’s _your_ _property_ then, eh?” Eric bellowed.

George’s eyes widened in shock.

“No! What am I? Some  _ fuckin’ _ womanizer?”

Eric simply chuckled.

“She wants to be with me.” 

George gulped, gazing down at his boney bare feet.

“N-no.” He stammered, his heart racing faster than a horse’s on a race course.

A feeling of guilt washed over him instantaneously, he could feel his stomach churn inside him, a cauldron, a cocktail of different potions being poured together to bring him hell.

Where was Pattie?

She was in his car, Eric’s car, outside, under the light of the moon, probably looking at herself in some little mirror, making sure that her eyeliner wasn’t uneven. She tended to do that a lot, maybe that was one of the things that caused George to fall for her.

The way she scrunched up her nose when she laughed, how her long blonde hair curled at her ears like little springs.

He’d miss it, if she left, he knew he would.

He’d miss her.

Sure, other women always found him, and of course, he was too damn shy to say no to their flirtacious banters, and yes, Pattie would simply fake a smile, and kiss him like nothing ever happened. 

“She’s mine now, Harrison,” Eric spat, charging towards the front door. “So piss off!”

The door slammed shut so violently, the ground began to shake beneath his feet, and that was that. 

He screamed at the top of his lungs.

Running into the kitchen, he slipped in a puddle of water and crashed down against the corner of the marble countertop, which only increased his cries of agony.

He clutched the back of his head and winced. No blood, but he was trembling.

Lonely, too.

He was all alone.

The mansion was completely empty, so much so that the silence was a painful piercing ring in his ears.

It felt so unreal, the lack of company.

His one fear in life was that feeling of being alone, there was no point to living unless you had someone to stay by your side.

Closing his eyelids gently, he let out a whimper.

“ _ Pattie _ .”

A tear ran down his cheek as he lifted himself up and threw himself at the liquor cabinet.

He flung open its wooden doors, yanking out a bottle of amber colored whiskey and crystal clear vodka.

Desperate, he scurried over to his record player that sat in the living room.

Beside it sat a stack of albums, some tattered some not.

He quickly flipped through them, pulling out  _ the Madcap Laughed  _ by Syd Barrett, he hadn’t listened to that one in a long time.

The vinyl began to spin, around and around, its crackling sound echoing through the speakers, and soon, a voice rang out.

George then hurried back into the kitchen, pouring himself a shot of vodka.

Chugged it.

_ SMACK! _

The glass hit the counter.

Another one.

_ SMACK! _

One more …

_ SMACK! _

Just another … 

_ SMACK! _

Last one … 

_ SMACK! _

Okay, for real this time … 

_ SMACK! _

The world revolved around him as he giggled like a madman, pressing the bottle of whiskey to his lips, allowing its burning liquid to rush down his throat, the next song began to play.

_ Trip to heave and ho, up down, to and fro _

George danced his way back towards the booming music, throwing his hands up in the air, his hair flying around his face.

_ You have no word _

He didn’t.

_ Trip, trip to a dream dragon _

Was he dreaming?

_ Hide your wings in a ghost tower _

Pattie … 

_ Sails crackling at every plate we break _

He stumbled out the front door.

_ Cracked by scattered needles ...  _

Flew into his car.

He laughed hysterically, stepping on the gas and soaring down his driveway.

The vehicle jerked and turned, but he just chuckled, the radio turned up to maximum volume.

Then, he heard a horrifyingly familiar guitar riff.

Oh, shit.

_ What will you do when you get lonely? _

God, no, it was Eric’s.

_ No one waiting by your side _

No one? George was always with Pattie, all the time, he loved her …

_ You've been running, hiding much too long _

Eric was in love with her.

_ You know it's just your foolish pride _

She never loved George?

_ Layla, you got me on my knees _

He burst into tears.

_ Layla, begging, darling, please _

“ _ Pattie! _ ” He wept, his attention drawing further and further away from the road ahead.

_ Layla, darling, won't you ease my worried mind? _

She was gone, she wasn’t coming back.

Rain started hitting the roof of the car with such aggression, it muffled his cries.

He drove up the road in front of a little house.

Lamps lit the path to its door, the windows bright and full of maybe even a single shred of hope.

George crawled out of the car, stumbling down the cobblestone path, sobbing.

He banged his fist on the door so hard it bruised his knuckles.

Finally, there was a response.  
“George?”

He peered up at a blue eyed man who rubbed his eyes and yawned with a tone of irritation hidden within it.

“CanyouhhhelpmeeRingsss?” George slurred, tripping over his own feet.

“Good god, Georgie!” Ringo burst. “How much did ye fuckin’ drink?”

“Drink? Never, eveeeerrrr!” 

“Get yer arse in ‘ere.”

George flopped onto the red velvet couch and giggled, as Ringo sat down next to him.

“HeyheyyyyRrrringo,”

“Jesus Christ, what?”

“Are ye a queeeeeeeer?”

“Shut the hell up, yer drunk.”

“Nooooooo!”

Ringo groaned, getting up from the couch. He walked into the kitchen, stretching his arms out to the sides.

“Ye want water, eh?” He asked.

“‘Ta.” George laughed.

As Ringo filled a glass with water, he heard the whimpers of his friend.

“George?”

He found him crying like a baby on the couch, tears coming out like a flood.

“What happened?”

George didn’t answer, he just blubbered.

Ringo took a seat next to him, handing him the glass.

George took it, reluctantly, sipping it while his hand shook violently.

“Pattie’s leaving me, Rings.”

Ringo jerked his head around to face his friend. 

“What?”  
“For Eric.”

“How could she?”

George didn’t answer.

Ringo sighed, crossing his legs into a position that looked like a pretzel. He lightly patted the empty spot next to him, smiling at his friend.

George sniffled and scooted over to him, falling backwards, he rested his head in Ringo’s lap, his long locks of chocolate hair flowing over the sides of the couch.

Ringo rolled his eyes.

“Oh,  _ I’m _ the queer, huh?”

George lightly slapped his arm.

“Stop, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Oh I know, John’s-”

“Gay.” George cut him off, shifting his body slightly closer to Ringo.

They stayed silent for awhile, taking in the serenity of the environment that midnight brought them.

George’s eyes were red, and so was his nose. The continuous bawling had left him entirely exhausted.

As he drifted off to sleep, Ringo stroked his hair in an attempt to calm him down, make him feel like someone cared. His best friend was hurting, and that hurt him.

It was pretty odd to think of Pattie with Eric, she and George had been an globally loved couple for a majority of the sixties. You could find them on the face of almost every magazine. Their  _ honeymoon _ was discussed by strangers for weeks on end.

Something even more odd, George without a woman? Who was he?

Ringo remembered how people would literally drool over him.

Maybe that was longer ago then he thought.

“I really brought a lemon to a knife fight, didn’t I, Richie?” George muttered, shutting his eyes for a moment.

Ringo huffed.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Really?”

“No, honest.”

“Hm.”

“I mean what are friends for?”

“That’s dreadfully cliche, Richie.” George cackled, looking up at the pair of blueberry eyes that stared back at him.

Ringo scoffed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, sometimes cliche is needed.”

George released a giggle, before allowing his eyelids to lower once more.

He could feel himself drifting off to sleep in the comforting arms of his dear old friend, the warmth and support feeling like a nice soft blanket wrapped around him. 

Perhaps he didn’t need someone to be  _ in _ love with him, he just needed someone to  _ love _ him.

A friend.

Friendship was precious, and it took him far too long to realize that.

In Hamburg, he didn’t have any girl, he spent his days with Ringo, John, and Paul. 

Of course, they all fought, they had their falling-outs, but in the end, they were there to support one another regardless of the troublesome situations life brought upon them, and as Ringo started to fall asleep, he heard George mumble:

“La-lay-l-la, Layla.”


End file.
